


The new 300: Epaminondas.

by Omeganian



Category: 300 (Movies)
Genre: movie script
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22113196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omeganian/pseuds/Omeganian
Summary: An attempt to show what the Theban War would look like with Snyder's historical accuracy.
Kudos: 2





	1. Mantinea

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a small piece that wouldn't leave my head. I have no idea when and if I'll write more. Definitely no idea if I'll finish it.

A battlefield. Two armies clash in a vicious melee. On the one side, it’s the red-caped Spartans, blue-caped Athenians, and a few others. Opposite them, an army steadily holds rank, clad in golden-colored armor. They seem to be steadily driving their foes back. Spears are piercing both Spartan and Athenian bodies. The ground is full of red-caped and blue-caped corpses.

In the middle of the Spartan force, a man on horseback is observing the battle. He wears the Spartan cape, but one decorated with a rather inappropriate amount of gold.

His gaze fixes on a man a short distance away. Horseback as well, he holds a rod, turning it this way and that to direct his men.

The Spartan’s face twists into a snarl. He looks down on a man standing next to his horse. A slave in rags.

“Javelins, helot!”

The man looks up.

“Master?”

“Javelins! Give me my javelins, slave. Don’t you see that man? Epaminondas is before me. The destroyer of my country. Javelins!”

“No.”

The Spartan officer looks in shock at his servant’s defiance.

“You dare defy me? You dare speak back? You dare raise your eyes at me?! Do you realize who you’re talking to, slave? Do you realize who! _You!_ Are?!”

The slave looks back, the hatred of hundreds of thousands in his stare:

“I am a Messenian, Spartiate slaver! Who are you to dare attacking the man who liberated my people after four centuries of yoke!”

Pulling out a dagger, the helot thrusts at the Spartiate.

The strike is parried. Angrily, the officer swings back with his sword.

He grabs the body before it falls down, so he can take the three javelins off the servant’s back. Then, he looks at the enemy commander, now only a few dozen paces away.

The first javelin barely misses Epaminondas. It is close enough, however, to alert him. He turns toward the Spartan, the shield in front of him.

The second javelin is thrown slightly to the side. It sticks in the shield, knocking it aside.

Before he can bring it back, the third javelin slams into his armor. Shock upon his face, the wounded Epaminondas falls off his horse.

As he lies on his back, the clash of battle ringing around him, flashbacks to the past start. Leonidas on his back, dead eyes staring up. Greek fleets clashing with the Persians. Persian armies clashing with the Greeks. Greeks clashing among themselves. Men demolishing city walls. Assemblies of hundreds shouting angry accusations at a handful of defiant, noble people.

The final shot is the Spartan Council standing around Theron’s body, holding up the golden coins he carried. The camera zooms in on one of the coins and blurs out.


	2. Sparta

The image sharpens again. This time, it’s centered around a golden coin as well. The coin is held by man dressed in Spartan clothes. However, from his face, it is clear he is used to some… active lifestyle. In front of him stands another Spartan, arrogant, fat, and holding a purse full of other such coins. In the other hand, he holds a papyrus. Two armed bodyguards surround them. The four stand in an empty passage between two houses.

The fat Spartan speaks:

“So, Gorgias, is the payment to your liking?”

“Yes, it is,” the drunkard smiles. “Don’t worry, I’m sure my luck will change soon enough for me to buy back the land,” he signs the papyrus, grabs the rest of the gold and leaves.

“Wasn’t the land yours already, Ctesias?” one of the bodyguards asks.

“Just the harvest,” Ctesias chuckles. “I need to think of my children. The child my mistress bore me will soon be fifteen; he needs a proper plot.”

Suddenly, a slight noise, like something shifting, draws their attention. At Ctesias’ nod, the other bodyguard rushed toward the end of the passage. Looking around briefly, he shrugs.

“Must have been a stray animal,” Ctesias looks around himself, but sees nothing.

The three leave. The narrator’s voice speaks now, as the view shifts to above them.

_For proper victory, you need to do what your foes don’t expect of you. You need to choose where you are. Choose where you are strong. And always know the foe._

A boy of maybe eight to ten is clinging to the roof, watching the departing men. Slowly, he crawls down. Silently, sneakily, he follows the narrow streets, until he comes to a larger building. A Spartan training barracks.

The boy lets out a nightingale’s trill.

A minute later, a shadow sneaks out of the barracks. A teen is standing in front of the boy. The look upon the boy’s face is grim enough for him to understand the situation without words.

“So, it’s true, Epaminondas,” the teen speaks sadly.

“I’m sorry,” the boy nods. “Your father sold your land plot right in front of my eyes. Ctesias now owns your house’s land.”

“That drunkard,” the teen barely manages to keep his words a whisper. “A shame to our house. Oh, Ares, why didn’t you strike down Epitadeus when he proposed his low two years ago?”

“The law was inevitable,” Epaminondas speaks with wisdom unusual for his age. “Someone else would have done it if not him.”

“ _Love of money and nothing else will ruin Sparta,”_ the teen snarls out. “Xerxes could not make Greece kneel through iron. Now, Darius makes us prostrate with metal too soft for spears and arrows. Instead of his face, an archer is now stamped upon his coins,” he chuckles darkly. “A host that can defeat us in a manner five hundred myriad warriors never could.”

“I’m sorry…” the boy starts.

“Doesn’t matter now,” the Spartan grabs hold of himself. “I swear, once I finish my training, I won’t let myself fall to my father’s level. I will be second to no man in Sparta,” he turns away, whispering:

“I will bring back the glory of Lycurgus. Gods protect you, Epaminondas,” and he disappears into the night.

The boy looks after him, a gaze full of admiration.

“Gods protect you, Cinadon,” he whispers.


End file.
